


The Secret Santa Job

by pharis



Category: Leverage
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pharis/pseuds/pharis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you give a bunch of multimillionaire con artists who have everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Santa Job

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only a couple of seasons in, so if there are inconsistencies, please bear with me. Thank you, tinzelda, for the input and cheerleading!

“I don’t get it.” Parker frowned at the scrap of paper and eyed the others suspiciously.

Sophie paused in the middle of fishing out a name. “What’s not to get, love? Christmas presents? You’re familiar with the concept?” She drew and handed the bowl back to Nate. He resisted the urge to guess at who she’d gotten and handed it to Hardison.

Parker rolled her eyes. “I mean, what is there that we need, anyway?” She looked at Eliot for support.

“She does have a point, Nate. My bank account has a pretty healthy string of zeroes on it. I want something, I just” —he shrugged. Parker interrupted with a stage-whispered, “ _Steeeeeal_ it!” Eliot smiled. “That too.”

“Well, I for one am on board with this.” Hardison set two fingers down on the last remaining slip of paper, not opening it yet. He looked at Parker and cocked his head. “Don’t you think it’s going to be a challenge to find something unique, something that’ll surprise the person?”

“That’s exactly the point!” Nate looked at each of them. They would follow his lead on any number of insanely dangerous con jobs, but a bit of Christmas spirit was beyond them. “What do you say, Parker—just this one time?”

She gave in and smiled. Hardison picked up his drink, and they clinked bottles and glasses while echoing Nate: “Just this once!”

* * *

Three weeks later, they gathered at Nate’s apartment. He’d taken a stab at Christmas decorations: a tabletop tree on a side table, a string of lights framing one of the front windows. He didn’t even try for a real Christmas dinner, but there were shortbread cookies and some little sausage things ordered from McRory’s downstairs. Eliot made cappuccinos, and Sophie made a pot of tea. Parker asked for chamomile tea. “That’s not tea,” Sophie said disapprovingly. “You cannot ask an Englishwoman to make you a floral infusion and call it _tea_.” Parker grumbled and took a swig from a bottle of cough suppressant. Sophie made the chamomile tea.

Nate cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll go first.” He pushed a flat, oblong box across the table. “Eliot.”

Eliot looked pleased and a little surprised. “OK.” He untied the burgundy satin ribbon, a little awkwardly. Hardison made an unhappy noise and took hold of Eliot’s left hand, carefully turning the wrist to get a better look at the bandage circling the base of his thumb.

“It’s nothing—it’s all right,” he mumbled, leaning forward so his hair half-hid his face. But Hardison wouldn’t let it drop.

“This looks bad. What happened?”

Eliot sighed. “A knife accident, OK? In a kitchen. Yes, me. Yes, like a goober. And yes, there might have been a woman involved.” Parker hooted in laughter and then clapped a hand over her mouth when Sophie turned to look at her. Eliot said impatiently, “Can I open my present now?”

In the box, folded in smooth paper, was a pair of gloves—dark brown leather, not so soft that they needed delicate handling, but supple and resilient. Eliot stroked the surface appreciatively, and then the lining. He pulled on the right glove and flexed his hand. “This is — Nate, thank you. Is this tailored?”

Nate smiled. “Might be. I got your handprints using fingerprint powder.”

Eliot looked up with a grin, but when he went to put on the left glove, he gasped a little as it snagged on the bandage. “Oh. Um. I ... I think this will have to wait until I’m healed up some.” Nate nodded quickly, trying to assure him that it was fine. “I’m sorry, man. But hey, my turn, right?” He picked up a box from a side table and set it in front of Parker. “Thought you might like this.”

She folded back the thin cardboard lid. It was a cheesecake. Nate raised his eyebrows in doubt and Hardison shook his head sadly, whispering “Lame.” But Parker looked at Eliot wide-eyed.

“Is this ...,” and she went silent, pointing at the cheesecake with both hands.

“Yeah.”

“And it’s got the ...”

“Yeah.”

“With the ...”

“No, no it’s better.” He leaned over, talking animatedly. “Last time I used regular vanilla extract—I mean, good quality, but it’s just not the same. This time, I got some good Mexican vanilla beans, best stuff in the world. That’s how I got this.” He waved his bandaged hand. “Like an idiot. But it was worth it. And the cheese and sour cream are from that local dairy, grass fed and all.”

Parker looked around at the others, beaming. “Have any of you _had_ his cheesecake?” Hardison leaned a little closer with an interested look. Parker immediately closed the box and curled herself around it protectively. “Back off!” Then she contorted in a mighty sneeze, and then another. Nate pulled a face and handed her a box of tissues.

“OK.” Parker drew a deep breath through her mouth. “OK, so I am maybe a little congested right now and possibly incapable of tasting anything.” She frowned at the cheesecake. “This is tragic. But it’ll keep, right?”

“Well,” Eliot said, thinking about it, and Parker gave a little whimper. “I had to make it on Thursday, so this is the third day. Another three, four days?”

“Get well soon, Parker,” Sophie said consolingly.

“I wouldn’t _have_ this cold if it weren’t for you. The way they’re doing the ticketing, I couldn’t even steal the tickets, not without some _computer help_ ,” Parker said, rounding on Hardison with a glare.

“Hey, hey, all I said was that I understood if you needed a team at your back now. You get a little older, you start getting set in your ways— _oof_. You got some sharp elbows, Parker.”

Pointedly ignoring him, Parker held out an envelope to Sophie. “Merry Christmas. I hope you’ll have fun at your weird, age-inappropriate, manufactured mass culture event.” She nodded in satisfaction and sat back down.

Sophie drew out two tickets, and gasped. “No—how did you get this? They sold out in minutes! You didn’t just buy them from a scalper, did you?”

“Oh no, I stood in line with ninety million teenagers. In the rain. And sleet.”

“Who is it?” Nate asked.

“Don’t—”

But Sophie was too late. Parker was already saying it. “Some kid. Justin Bieber? Rabid fans, I tell you.”

Silence fell.

Sophie shook back her hair. “I don’t care what you all think. I will be there, basking in the communal appreciation of a luminous performer, the evening of”—she looked down at the tickets and faltered. “December twenty-eighth. Oh.” She looked at Parker, stricken.

Parker said, “What, it’s not the right music thing?”

“No, no, it’s perfect, I love it. I just ... well, let me explain.” Sophie turned to Hardison. “My present to you isn’t wrapped, I’m afraid. But I think you’ll like it.”

“I am all ears.” Hardison sat forward.

“There’s a charity event,” Sophie began.

Hardison interrupted her. “Tell me you did not give a donation to somebody else as my gift. I’m all about giving, but that is taking it _too far_.”

“No, no, let me finish. There was a lottery to benefit an organization that promotes science education for girls. The prize was dinner with a celebrity who cares about the cause.” Hardison looked skeptical, and Sophie rushed on, starting to look worried. “I was told”—she glanced at Nate—“that she was almost sure to be of interest to you. ... Someone called Felicia Day?” She handed him a card with the logos of the event sponsors and an invitation in formal script.

Hardison’s mouth fell open. He blinked. Closed his mouth. “Felicia”—he cleared his throat and started over. “Felicia Day? And, and, a private dinner with her? Shut up,” he said to Eliot, who was laughing silently at him.

“Well, I think I’m meant to be there. Because I was the actual donor. It might have to do with security. But I assure you I’ll slip away if I can.” She gave a wretched look at the envelope with her tickets. “It’s the evening of the twenty-eighth.”

“Felicia Day,” Hardison repeated faintly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s, OK, that’s a good gift. Thank you. Wow. Where’s it going to be held?”

“They’re dressing up a hall at MIT. There’ll be events there all day, with some girls from local schools who are interested in engineering fields and space science. Then the dinner will be held right there, with several of the researchers and graduate students in attendance. We’ll have a private table with Ms. Day.”

“MIT?” Hardison asked. “It’s not at the aerospace building on Vassar Street, is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Sophie said. When she looked at Nate, he nodded. “Yes, then, I suppose so. Why?”

Hardison looked down and scratched the back of his head. “I might be kind of recognizable there. And sort of banned for life.”

Parker asked, interested, “Did you go to MIT?”

“No!” Hardison said, sounding offended. “I pulled a job there, recently. They have great satellite feeds, they’re nearby, and their security is a joke.”

“You pulled a job there,” Sophie said flatly.

“Without us?” Parker said. Eliot shook his head, and Nate opened his mouth to say something, but Hardison cut him off.

“No—it was _this_ job. For Christmas.” He fetched a laptop computer from his bag and handed it to Nate. “You might have some of this already, but I’m pretty sure there’s a lot you don’t have,” he said. Nate looked questioningly at him and turned the computer on. As it booted up, Hardison continued. “There are more security cameras in schools than you might think. And public ones, satellite images, private photos and videos that people upload to the web. MIT’s infrastructure was a gold mine. It’s hooked in to a lot of local stuff.”

Nate took a breath and looked at the computer grimly. He clicked on the single icon on the desktop and a video started playing. A scene in grainy black-and-white showed a public park. A toddler at the bottom left of the frame walked shakily from a woman’s hands to the waiting arms of its father. There was no sound, and after a few seconds the family left the frame.

Eliot, Parker, and Sophie had gathered next to Nate to see the video. Parker said abruptly, “Was that—” but Eliot cut her off with a touch on the arm and a shake of his head.

The next video was at the same park. The camera angle was different, and this one had sound. It was summer now, and the toddler was a little boy, running toward the swings and yelling something unintelligible. His mother hunted distractedly through her bag, coming up with a sippy cup and a set of keys before she found a digital camera. Nate closed his eyes. That might have been when he was on assignment in London. Maggie had sometimes emailed him a photo from the park.

He closed the computer abruptly and left the table. In the kitchen, he kept his head down and concentrated on pouring a cup of tea, adding honey, stirring. He stared at it for a moment, then poured it down the sink and carefully washed the cup.

Behind him, the others spoke softly. “It was a lovely idea, Hardison,” Sophie said. “I’m just not sure....” Eliot said something he couldn’t make out, and then it was quiet.

Nate returned to the table, and they all looked at him in concern. Hardison reached toward the computer, offering silently to take it back. “I’m sorry, Nate. I guess I didn’t really think how hard it would be. I just thought there were pictures out there that you didn’t have.”

Nate set a hand lightly on the closed lid of the computer. “No. This is good. Someday I’ll want this. Maggie will too.” He drew a deep breath and shook his head. “So is this still a party or what? Merry Christmas, everybody.”

Parker visibly steeled herself. “I guess you can all have some of my cheesecake if you want. _Some_.” There was laughter, and a clatter of dishes as Eliot served them. “World’s best cheesecake, coming right up.” They moved into the living room, curling up or sprawling comfortably on couches, trading stories and laughing.

Sophie and Nate sat next to each other and watched the others. He gave her a rueful look. “I love it when a plan utterly fails to come together,” he said.

Sophie looked amused. “You think so?”

He shrugged and gestured back toward the litter of the failed presents on the dining table. “I mean....”

Sophie moved a little closer to him on the couch, tucking her arm under his and pulling his attention back to where the team was gathered. “I think you chose very wisely, my dear,” she said quietly. “I think we all did.”

* * *

 

 


End file.
